


Tell Me Why [McLennon]

by PixelDoesStuff



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Completed, Eventual Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, M/M, Mkay im gonna stop there, No Smut, Not that satisfying of an ending, So many of these recommended tags scare me Jesus Christmas, This is kind of old so yeah, Why Did I Write This?, idk why I forgot to tag that lmao, like its mostly angst cuz I cant write fluff im so sorry, not accurate to irl cuz i was an idiot when writing this, please no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27891841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelDoesStuff/pseuds/PixelDoesStuff
Summary: Set in modern times (somewhere between 2015-2018), this story follows John Lennon and Paul McCartney in an alternate universe as high-schoolers. Between band practice and schoolwork, the two boys are trying to get their small band to fame. When tragedy arrives and John suddenly starts acting up, how does Paul help him, and how does John figure out why his own heart flutters when he's near his best mate?ORMe being bored during quarantine, writing this piece of garbage, then posting it onto WattPad, Quotev, then here bc I’m a sucker for clout. This is very cringe so I’m sorry in advance.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Kudos: 12





	1. Author’s note/Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey. Why are you here? Anyways, this story was finished a while ago (albeit not very well because I eventually got so fed up with writing it and kept on thinking “why am I writing this I could be doing better things with my life”) so I’ll probably just post all the chapters and call it a day. Ive got like 3 old chapters and a one shot of this on my WattPad (Also under PixelDoesStuff) so you can go check that out if you’d like lol. Anyways enjoy this very cringe story ig
> 
> (Go give me clout on Insta @ bitdoodles if you want too I draw decent-ish shit)

The boy groaned, rolling over on his bed and reaching for the acoustic guitar propped against the wall. He sat up, lazily picking at a few chords and running over songs in his head. They'll be here any moment now. he assured himself. Finally, there was a loud Ring! from downstairs, and the boy ran to answer the door. When he opened it, two people stood in front of him; one who was clearly too tall for his age and holding an electric guitar, and the other who was looking at him through thick-framed glasses and also holding a guitar.

"Afternoon," said the boy at the door, allowing his friends inside. "John, have you seen Stuart, or Pete?" The boy wearing glasses turned around.

"They'll be here, Macca. Don't you worry your pretty head about that," John answered mockingly. Paul pursed his lips in annoyance.

"Someone could call them at least, or this'll be the third time they'd be late to practice," he closed the door and was now leaning against it, crossing his arms over his faded-blue blazer.

"I could," the tall boy answered quietly, fishing his phone out of his hoodie's pocket.

"Thanks, Geo," Paul smiled at George, then led his bandmates into his garage for band practice.

...

The garage was set up already, as it usually was. There was a drum set in the corner with a cymbal that still needed to be placed on, an amplifier was pushed to the side, and there was a large sofa against one wall with loose pieces of sheet music and school assignments littered on the cushions. And there was also Paul's younger brother, cross-legged amongst the mess and furiously tapping at buttons on a small console.

"Oi, Michael! Get off the couch and go do your homework," John shouted. The boy on the sofa looked up and scoffed.

"Arready did it. You're not my mum, Lennon." John placed a hand over his chest in mock-hurt.

"Of course not! Paulie, you should really teach your brother some manners," he chided, poking Paul, who was kneeling and trying to get their instruments plugged in, on the back of the head.

"Mike, please go before John gets mad and decides to beat the shite out of you," the dark-haired boy pleaded. That seemed to frighten his brother, who took off and made sure to tightly shut the garage door behind him. John smirked and picked his guitar up from next to the amplifier, strumming a few test chords.

"Sounds good," he said to himself. Just then, the door opened again, and in walked two more boys who were slightly older than the three already in the room. "Pete! Stu!" John greeted them, patting their shoulders with his free hand.

"'Ello, boys," Pete said, addressing Paul and George who were tuning their guitars. They both gave brief smiles before the band started practice.

The group practiced for an hour or so; running and re-running through songs, arguing about lyrics, and jamming out together. After practice was over and Pete and Stu had left, claiming they had 'adult responsibilities' to get to, the remaining three sat on the large sofa, talking.

"Again, you don't have to scream so loud when singing that. My da's gonna kick us out if you do!" Paul said to John, but the auburn-haired boy didn't seem to care.

"It's an energetic song, Macca," he explained, vaguely gesturing with his glasses in his hand.

"You could lose yer voice," George said, offering reason.

"And if I do, I'll worry about that," John said smugly, patting the younger boy roughly on the head. George sighed and stood up, looking at his phone.

"It's six-thirty. I'd better leave," he said, heading towards the garage door.

"Take care, Geo!" Paul waved at him, and he and John were left sitting on the sofa. "You going too, Johnny?"

"It's Friday, Macca. Don't tell me you won't spend the rest of it songwriting?"

"We just had practice."

"We did. So?"

"And I'm tired."

"You've definitely made plans." Paul scrunched his thin eyebrows.

"Plans for what?"

"I dunno? Maybe Jane called you over?" Paul laughed a bit.

"If only. I'm completely free though," John smiled and stood up to exit the room. "Where are you going?"

"You said it yourself, Paulie. You're free!"

...

The two boys sat in silence for a long while, the only noises being John writing in his notebook or Paul typing away at his laptop, scrunching the bedsheets under him when he was thinking.

"You have anything?" John said after some time, looking up from the words scribbled into his notebook and reaching for his glasses. "You've gone awfully quiet."

"I'm thinking," Paul answered, chewing his lip. "You?" He looked over the edge of the bed where his friend was leaning against the bed frame with his knees propping his notebook up.

"Yeh. Just bits 'n pieces," he placed his notebook down and stood up. He yawned while tugging at the collar of his turtleneck.

"Tired already? It's only seven," asked Paul.

"Seven-forty," John corrected. Paul's expression turned to concern.

"Wait. Has your mum called you?" The older boy reached for his phone, swiping up to check for any missed calls, then shook his head. Paul sighed, shutting his laptop. "I s'pose you can stay for dinner? I've no idea what Da is making tonight."

———

I told you it was cringy lol


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beep boop why would every chapter need a summary? Uhh John has a terrifying dream and loses his shit.

John stayed for more than dinner. By the time they finished eating and getting crushed at a racing-type game by Mike, it was 10.

"I told you we shouldn't have played with him," chided Paul, sitting up on his bed cross-legged.

"Well, he shouldn't have thrown that goddamned shell at me!" John pouted, clutching his glasses in frustration. Paul laughed at his friend's misery and patted his shoulder.

"Go and change before you throw a fit, at least," he said, gesturing towards his dresser. John raised an eyebrow at him.

"Who said I'm staying?"

"Looks like your aunt called and said you could stay the night," Paul replied excitedly. The older boy just rolled his eyes and went to pick out a pair of sweats and a shirt that might fit him.

"Don't look so excited, Macca," he said, pulling a gray T-shirt over his head. "It's just a sleepover."

"But we haven't had one in years!" The younger boy grinned despite John not looking at him. "It's really been ages since we've hung out like this."

"I guess." John agreed, flopping down next to Paul on the bed.

"Whaddya mean 'I guess'? Don't you miss spending time with me?"

"I do, I do. 'M just tired, mate," The younger boy shut his mouth, not wanting to disturb his friend. "No need to look so sad, princess." Paul scowled and pulled the blanket away from John, flipping over to check his phone.

22:15

"Night, Macca," John said, assuming his friend was still awake. He rolled over to find Paul deep asleep, one hand still resting over his phone. His features were barely illuminated by the streetlight coming from the window. The light caught on his dark hair and rosy cheeks and slightly parted lips. John sighed deeply and smiled to himself, inching his fingers closer to the sleeping boy's face. He brushed a few strands of hair from the boy's forehead and quickly turned back before he did something stupid.

............

The auburn-haired boy woke to the warmth of the sun on his face. He was sitting and leaning against a tree, surrounded by an endless field of gold and red. He ran his hands through the yellow grass under him and pushed himself up until he was standing. The boy then started walking into the field; not in a particular direction, but almost wandering aimlessly. Finally, he reached a clearing, and in the middle was a woman wearing a pure white summer dress that caught the breeze in it's plaits. She turned around, and the boy smiled, running to her arms. The woman cradled his head against her chest, stroking his hair. The boy felt her speaking and looked up, but no words formed when she opened her mouth. He desperately searched her dark eyes, mirroring his own, for answers, for words, for something. He shook his head, then squeezed his palms against his ears, blocking out a sudden ringing. It encased the very air around him, suffocatingly hot but sharply cold. He stared teary-eyed at the woman, trying to reach out, but to no avail. He couldn't say or do anything but watch as she fell away, just beyond his grasp. He tried screaming out, forcing something to happen, when a pair of hands grasped his shoulders.

John.

John, wake up.

John.

............

"John!" The boy awoke suddenly, clammy and his chest pounding, and then he let out a sob, choking on his emotions. "John, are you alright?" Paul squeezed his shoulders, looking into his eyes. John couldn't stop the tears from falling, holding his arms as the other boy stroked his hair. "Hey, it's alright. You're fine, Johnny. I'm here." John hated this. He fucking hated this. He hated being vulnerable over seemingly nothing in front of Paul fucking McCartney. He was a strong, stoic guy to anyone who knew him, even to Paul, but something about his mate could tear down his walls if a small amount of emotion escaped. 

"I'm fine." he managed to choke out through his tears. The other boy pursed his lips and crossed his arms. 

"No, you're not. What happened?" Paul asked firmly. John stared straight ahead at the blanket bundled in front of him.

"It was just a stupid dream, nothing r-"

"John." The auburn-haired boy let out a long exhale, realizing that he'd been holding his breath.

"I saw my mum," he finally said. Paul stayed silent. "She was beautiful, Paul. Wearing all white and standing in this perfect...place. Like a larger version of Strawberry Field, but more open and grassy."

"Then what got you upset?" The younger boy asked, confused. John looked at him, almost in disbelief, and took a breath.

"She just slipped away. I couldn't do anything. I just stood there like a useless bloke and watched her disappear." John's breath hitched and he rubbed his eyes. "Damnit." Paul sat there, listening, debating whether or not he should try to comfort his friend, and tried to touch John's shoulder. The gesture, however, was met with a bitter response.

"Don't touch me." John snapped, his eyes full of hate and tears and his face blotchy and his heart racing like a horse. Paul obeyed, immediately taking his hand back, and lay down again.

The two tried to fall asleep, blocking out the quiet sobs that filled the room until they subsided to nothing more than shaky, then still breaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a n g s t


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John is being a dick.

"Don't touch me." John snapped, his eyes full of hate and tears and his face blotchy and his heart racing like a horse. Paul obeyed, immediately taking his hand back, and lay down again.

The two tried to fall asleep, blocking out the quiet sobs that filled the room until they subsided to nothing more than shaky, then still breaths.

...a few days later...

There was no color except black and white and the occasional pink of chrysanthemums. John stood at the casket, running his hand over the same engraving for the past minute. He didn't know what to say, and if he did, he feared that he may never have the courage to form those words. He sighed, and walked away towards the back of the church hall which led into the garden. He was stopped by his bandmates. They stood there in silence, hands in pockets or fiddling with ties.

"Hey," said George finally. John looked up. George looked like he was on the verge of tears while Pete, Stuart and Paul's faces showed concern. To their surprise, John let out a single chuckle.

"'Hey'? That's the best fucking thing you can say to your mate?" He smiled, forced and taut. "Move your arse." John shoved them aside, continuing down the hall and out of the back door.

Once he was in the gardens and out of sight from anyone, John retrieved a small, black vape from his pocket. He placed it to his mouth, letting the sickly sweet smoke cloud his already tangled thoughts. One puff turned into two, then into three. Several puffs later, a pair of footsteps could be heard approaching him. He quickly stuffed the device back into his pocket before the noise reached him.

"John, it's me." A familiar voice greeted John. He didn't say anything, hoping the silence would drive his mate away. Paul continued to stand there, straightening his tie.

"Piss off, McCartney." John said after a while, expecting Paul to leave. He didn't.

"I won't, until you talk to us." Paul said firmly. No reply. "Then talk to me at least?"

"I said, piss off!" John whipped around, shoving Paul hard in the chest, causing him to fall back onto the hard cement pathway.

"What the hell?!" Paul gawked at John, his mouth slightly open. John didn't feel bad for what he did, but knelt down anyway, staring emptily at the wide-eyed boy.

"Just sod off and leave me alone." He sniffed, fighting back dry tears. He didn't want to talk like this to Paul. He wanted to scream his emotions out. He wanted to let his friend hold him tight and promise him that everything was alright even if it wasn't. And he hated that Paul would be the best person to help him because he'd know how he felt, but all John did was stand up and return to the church hall.

...a few more days later... 

Paul stood on the porch of Mimi's place. He didn't like John's aunt very much, but that was fine because she didn't like him either. The front door finally creaked open, and Mimi stood there while Paul put on his best smile.

"Is John there?" He asked nicely. Mimi nodded reluctantly, allowing Paul inside, who immediately ran up to John's bedroom. The door was open slightly, and from inside there was piano music playing from a phone. Paul nudged the door open to find John laying across his bed so that his legs hung over the edge. He was also scrolling on his phone, tapping the screen every now and then.

"Johnny?" Paul asked, knocking on the doorframe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dont vape kiddos its no bueno for your health just drink lotsa agua instead please and thank you  
> Also theres supposed to be italics in some places but i dont care enough about formatting at this point so im v sorry ill try n fix that some time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John and Paul talk (and I try to write fluff but fail)

The door was open slightly, and from inside there was piano music playing from a phone. Paul nudged the door open to find John laying across his bed so that his legs hung over the edge. He was also scrolling on his phone, tapping the screen every now and then.

"Johnny?" Paul asked, knocking on the doorframe. John looked away from his phone, acknowledged the boy standing at his door, then looked back. Paul sighed and let himself in. He walked to John's bed carefully, then flopped down next to him. John gasped in surprise and bolted up, scooting away from Paul.

"Off." He said, staring ahead at his closet.

"John, I want to ta-"

"Get off of my fucking bed, McCartney." John shot daggers at Paul, looking into his cloudy hazel eyes. Paul sat up, looking back at John with a determined expression. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but let the sound of the music occupy the silence instead. John let his expression soften, letting his phone slip onto the bed and hugging his knees up to his face.

"Whaddya want?" John murmured. He looked down, fiddling with his jean cuffs.

"I want you to talk instead of bottling up your emotions, you..." Paul finished with something more vulgar in his head. "...prick." John winced, just enough for Paul to notice.

"You already know what happened. You were there at her fucking funeral. At least you're not blind enough like me to miss _every bloody detail_!" John's sentence ended with a scream, and then a fit of coughing. Paul, trying his best to stay calm, attempted to wrap an arm around him, but was met with a sharp slap on his hand.

" _Don't you dare_!" He reeled back, watching his best mate melt into tears and violent sobs, grabbing his hair and burying his face into his knees. Whether it was a minute or an hour, neither of them knew, but however long it was, it was excruciating.

Finally, there was complete silence.

John mumbled something into his knees.

"What was that?" asked Paul, relieved that his friend was willing to emote.

"I said 'm sorry." John sniffed and rubbed his eyes. The other boy sighed, gingerly placing his hand on his friend's shoulder. There was no protest.

"I know you are. You've just been so distant from us lately. At school, at practice, it's like we've done something. What is it?"

"Nothing, I'm just being an arse."

"That's not an excuse though. The John I know loves playing his guitar and goofing with his mates."

"Yeah, I still do." Paul wasn't convinced.

"What about these mood swings? What're you gonna do about 'em?" John glanced over to the small device on his table, but Paul quickly turned his face back towards him, placing his fingers on his chin. "No. No more nicotine for you. No more for all of—" he vaguely nodded his head at John. "—this

"John, I'm just worried about you, and if 'm being honest, I don't think it's so good for me either—"

"Then quit worrying! You're not my—" John stopped, unable to finish his sentence.

"You're right, I'm not. But I am your best mate, and I want to help you and be there for you if you need me. Please, talk to me if you feel like this again." John breathed deeply, and pushed his forehead to Paul's when he exhaled. The other boy cupped his face, wiping away dried tears with his thumb.

"I don't know what's wrong with me, Macca," John whispered. Through his closed eyes, he could see his mum again, standing there with open arms, but he was unable to reach out. To her, at least. He was able to reach out to the boy sitting next to him, firmly holding his arms, and he heard Paul let out a small sigh.

"There's nothing wrong with you, you nit," Paul said. John wanted to believe that. He was so willing to believe what other people had been telling him that he was unable to surface his own thoughts. But there was something clearly wrong with him, right? He shouldn't be acting like such a ponce in front of his classmates, and especially in front of his mates at band practice. And he _definitely_ shouldn't feel like his chest would burst simply because his best friend was stroking his cheek or that their heads were pressed so closely together that he could feel the younger boy's lashes on his own. No. This was all stupid and silly and just rubbish.

But he didn't feel like that when they let each other go. John was so tempted to pull Paul back for a hug, for something comforting and safe. He wanted to say so much more in such little time.

"Take care, yeah?" Paul pulled the older boy from his thoughts, concern in his hazel eyes—now less cloudy, and more bright. John nodded his head silently, letting out a small breath.

And what happened next was so sudden yet so subtle he felt as though he was dreaming it. There was a soft, sweet kiss laid on his forehead, just where his bangs met his eyebrows. It didn't stay there for very long, but the ghost of it lingered long after Paul left and hours after John covered his face with a pillow, once again drowning in his thoughts.

... 

The year passed by just like that. Band practice was going smoother now that the boys didn't have to worry about honors classes during the summer or being lectured on staying out too late. This was true for everyone but John, at least. He would walk in to practice, cracking jokes and having fun, but would tense up anytime his band mates tried to speak to him about "the incident". Especially if that someone was Paul. And Paul would do his best to avoid any contact at all, keeping his distance from the one mic they shared when harmonizing. He wasn't doing it because he hated John for yelling at him or even because he was scared of the older boy's unpredictable mood swings. He felt sorry. He just wanted to give him space, since he didn't want to talk about anything. Paul, of all people, had some idea of what his best mate was going through. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy i fixed the italics issue I’ll maybe go back n fix the other 3 chapters but im also too lazy too u-u


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul has a flashback

It was sometime around June or July when Stu arrived to practice with good news.

"I've got a gig for us, lads!" He grinned wide, hastily scrolling through his phone, probably to find an email or an address.

"If it's at a pub again, I don't wanna go. My mum do—" George began, but was abruptly cut off by John.

"If little Georgie doesn't want to go, that's fine. He'll probably be up past his bedtime anyway," he joked. Paul, sitting on the sofa next to his younger friend, rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Where is it anyway, Sutcliffe?" he asked.

"Hamburg," Stu replied, taking a seat on the garage floor where Pete was fiddling around with his drumsticks.

"Isn't that in Germany? How the hell are we supposed to get there?" Paul asked, concerned.

"I can book us plane tickets and pay for rooms or something." John was smiling for once, Paul noticed. He and Stu were definitely ready to go, unlike the other members.

"I'd have to ask my da, but he might say yes?" Paul finally offered.

"Same here," Pete added. John and Stu were already on board. They all looked to the remaining bandmate.

"Fine, fine! I'll ask," George said reluctantly.

...a week later...

The four boys were sitting around a table in a local pub (much to George's disliking) waiting for Stu to arrive. They were cramped together at the table, resting legs and arms over their equipment and other band members.

"Any idea where he is?" Paul asked, biting his nails.

"Stop worrying, Macca. He'll be here," John said, then resumed his conversation with the other two boys. Paul, feeling ultimately left out, leaned back onto the plush seat and gazed into the rest of the pub. He so desperately wanted to talk to John. He'd refused to talk about anything since they met at Mimi's house. _Maybe I went too far. He's so goddamn sensitive sometimes._ Paul was able to get bits and pieces from the brief conversations they had at school or at practice, but John would either have to leave or would get frustrated. He mentally slapped himself. _If I can't even talk to my best mate, then how the hell am I supposed to help him?_

...

"John." Paul smacked his lunch down onto the table where he, George, John, and Pete usually sat. John glowered up at him from his phone while George scarfed a sandwich down, oblivious to the air of tension at the table. Pete tapped a notebook scrawled with messy writing impatiently and stood up, saying: "'M gonna go find Stu.". Paul took his place and nudged John with his shoulder in hopes of getting his attention.

"What?" John said, his voice tinged with annoyance. Paul sighed, hastily picking up his sandwich before George could get his hands on it.

"Just making sure you're alright," he said, glancing down at his mate's screen. John noticed and slammed his phone face down onto the table.

"I'm fine, Macca," he snapped.

"Then talk to me! I don't get why you're being such an arse."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, believe me. I _would_ , and you know that!"

"Guys..." John and Paul turned their faces away from each other and to the end of the table where George was clutching a bag of crisps. John cursed under his breath and stood up, storming away from the table. "Sorry."

"That's alright, Geo. You didn't do anything," Paul sighed. He leaned on one arm, glancing in the direction that his friend left. "He's just being a prick, that's all."

"You should talk to him. He only listens to you."

"Trust me, I've tried. I don't think he'll listen to anyone."

"Paul, c'mon. I'm scared of band practice now, with him staring at us from a corner and all that!" Paul couldn't help himself and smirked a little bit.

"You're always _somewhat_ scared, Georgie. Too many adults, right?" George didn't say anything and violently popped open his bag of crisps. "Fine, I'll try and talk to him. I might have an idea on where he'll be..."

...after school...

John pushed the slightly rusting gate of the cemetery open, stepping forward but not of his own accord. He felt like he was floating, and not in a good way. He wanted to turn around, deciding that this was a bad idea, but he continued to walk anyway. He walked through the rows of gray and fading graves, glancing at names and epitaphs.

_Dearly beloved..._

_Was loved..._

_Will be missed..._

They all read virtually the same thing. Until he reached a particular one. He looked around briefly, then sat down next to it, facing the inscription etched into the stone. John removed his glasses and traced the name, Julia, with his fingers. This one also had a loving message on it, but it didn't feel sincere. He felt that the only person who could mean those words was him.

"Mum?" John whispered, mouth dry and heavy. He gently leaned onto the smooth stone, closing his eyes under the warmth of the sun. He couldn't see anything without his glasses anyway. "Do you know how lovely you'd look in a summer dress?" he asked, smiling to himself. This moment felt so familiar but so strange. It reminded him of the golden field he'd dreamt about. Golden and smelling of ripe strawberries. And the sun was just as warm today, gently touching his face with soft fingertips. And that reminded him of Paul. He snapped his eyes open, shaking his head. Obviously, avoiding his best mate during practice wasn't enough if his own thoughts couldn't keep off of him. As if he wasn't distracted already, his phone started buzzing. John retrieved it from the back pocket of his jeans and groaned when he read the name displayed on the screen. Still, he answered the call.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"Look up!" said the voice from the phone. Putting on his glasses, John could see his mate running to him, stumbling through the rows of graves until he finally sat down next to him. "I thought I'd find you here," Paul panted, adjusting his blazer and then his mop-top hair. John quirked an eyebrow up at him, trying his best to appear nonchalant.

"How'd you know?"

"Because I did the same thing," answered Paul, smiling sincerely at his mate. The older boy just scoffed, turning his face away. "It's true," Paul continued, ignoring John's obvious signs of discomfort. "I'd visit my mum's grave almost every week, sometimes with Mike. And I'd just talk to her. It was nice." He looked up towards the sky and smiled, and John couldn't help but look at him. Perfect was one of the many words someone could use to describe the dark-haired boy. John would have used that, among others that he wouldn't dare say out loud. Hell, it may've been the 21st century, but it was still weird for a boy to call another boy 'cute' or 'breathtaking'. People at school would definitely talk.

"Lennie?" Paul asked suddenly, snapping John back to the present.

"Huh?" he mumbled. Paul grinned widely.

"You wanna talk about something instead of goggling at the sky?"

"Since when was I doing that?"

"Since now," the younger boy said in an as-a-matter-of-factly, voice. John gave a half-hearted laugh and sighed, rubbing his eyes. "What's wrong?" The older boy gave his mate a sad half-smile.

"Shit, Paul. I don't think this'll ever be over."

"Then I'll be there with you every step of the way." Paul wrapped an arm around John's shoulders, then pulled him into a hug. He gently rubbed the other boy's back as John shut his eyes and tried not to think about anything—not about what was happening or about Julia—just nothing. "You better?" the younger boy said after some time. John moved back, realizing that he'd almost sunk into his mate's chest.

"Yeah, I s'pose." He averted his eyes and pushed his glasses up. "Could I ask you something though?" Paul, now sitting with his legs crossed, nodded. "What was that back then? When my mum died and you came over?" Paul's thin eyebrows scrunched together.

"What was what?" he asked.

"Y'know. When you..." John cleared his throat, lightly touching his hair in the hopes that his mate would get the hint. The dark-haired boy's hazel eyes lit up in understanding and he smiled sheepishly.

"You were in an awful mood, so I thought I'd lighten it," Paul answered, chewing his lip. "I was just goofing, you nit," he added quickly when he saw John's eyes widen.

"You sure?" John asked cautiously.

"Yeah. Unless you weren't?" John flushed.

"God no! I was just...curious on why you did that. Best mates don't really go around giving kisses to each other,"

"Christ, Lennon. You're making sound like we were snogging or something." They both went silent. "Sorry," Paul apologized.

"S'okay," John mumbled, tearing the grass next to his feet, then stopped when he realized what he said. "I didn't mean that! I wanted to say it's fine and-"

"Shh!" Paul held his hand up, staring at his mate. "Don't make it worse." John's expression dropped. "Oh no...I'm sorry. You're not doing anything wrong, Johnny." Paul reached his arm out—brushing his fingertips against auburn hair—causing John to flinch and bolt up.

"I'm leaving," he said curtly, glaring down at his dark-haired mate, and quickly made his way out of the cemetery, leaving Paul sitting quietly next to Julia's grave.

...

"You coming?" Paul's brain snapped out of it's daydream and his eyes flew up to meet John's. His mate looked annoyed, like he'd been calling his name for some time. "Stu's here. You coming or not ?" Paul hastily grabbed his guitar case and stood up, joining the rest of his bandmates outside the pub where Stu was loading their instruments and belongings into a sizable van.

"How the fuck did you rent this?" Paul blurted. Stu just shrugged and mumbled something along the lines of "It rented cheap." Why it did, he didn't say. Once the instruments and amplifiers and other various sound equipment was loaded, the band members shuffled in awkwardly and settled down. Before they knew it, they were off to the airport for a trip to Hamburg. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They go to Hamburg in the next chapter but it probably doesn't make and sense IRL timeline-wise so uhhhHHHh h h just go with it


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys are in Hamburg

"You coming?" Paul's brain snapped out of it's daydream and his eyes flew up to meet John's. His mate looked annoyed, like he'd been calling his name for some time. "Stu's here. You coming or not ?" Paul hastily grabbed his guitar case and stood up, joining the rest of his bandmates outside the pub where Stu was loading their instruments and belongings into a sizable van.

"How the fuck did you rent this?" Paul blurted. Stu just shrugged and mumbled something along the lines of "It rented cheap." Why it did, he didn't say. Once the instruments and amplifiers and other various sound equipment was loaded, the band members shuffled in awkwardly and settled down. Before they knew it, they were off to the airport for a trip to Hamburg.

...at Hamburg... 

"I call top bunk!" George hollered as soon as the band entered their rooms. Pete and Stu, being the oldest, decided to room together and left the two younger bandmates stuck with John.

"Be careful, Geo! I don't want a liability on my hands," John yelled as George clambered up the bunk bed in the small room. Paul laughed, resting his guitar case on the lower bunk of the bed George climbed onto.

"Damn you, I'll do what I want!" The younger boy flopped back onto the mattress, the top of his head barely missing the low ceiling.

"He makes a good case, John," Paul said statedly, crossing his arms in hopes that it would help lower the intensity of the large grin on his face. John simply scoffed and placed his own guitar on the small sofa opposite the bunk. The dark-haired boy bit his lip at this, and glanced over to make sure that his younger bandmate was sleeping. Sure enough, George was already passed out, probably tired from the flight here. Paul smirked to himself and turned back to John. "You don't want the bed? It'll be more comfortable." he offered.

"And where'll you sleep?" John didn't turn around, busying himself by chucking his suitcase into a corner and unzipping it. Paul huffed in annoyance, wishing his mate would at least have the decency to look at him.

"The couch, you git."

"Then, no. I don't think sleeping on a couch is fit for a princess anyway," The younger boy dropped his arms, clenching his hands at his sides. John, still looking away, didn't notice, and stood up holding a toothbrush and his notebook, then turned around. And then he noticed Paul's expression. "It was a _joke_ , Paulie. You don't have to be so sensitive about it."

"Then how come you get to snap at me whenever I try to get a reasonable conversation out of you? That's not fair!"

"Well life isn't fucking fair, is it? If it was I wouldn't be here; I'd be back in Liverpool. If life was fair, I'd still have her!" John's notebook made a soft thud as it hit the ground along with the toothbrush. "Shite." John, rubbing his teary eyes, turned to leave, but Paul grabbed hold of his sleeve.

"Talk to me damnit. You can't keep on leaving every time you feel like crying! I've been where you're standing and I had no one. At least im here n—"

" _I don't want you!_ " The older boy slapped his mate's hand and ran to the door which exited to the hallway, slamming it behind him. Paul winced, both from the pain and the noise, and whipped around when he heard a sleepy groan from the top bunk.

"What was that?" George sat up, his hoodie wrinkled and his eyes heavy. Paul didn't want to say anything, so he just shook his head and said "Just get some sleep. We start our gig tomorrow."

...

The first nights in the club were surprisingly and overwhelmingly packed, although the audience normally consisted of drunk travelers, pretty girls, and confused tourists. It seemed that most of the visitors were there for the other groups there, and Paul couldn't help but notice the energy of the drummer from the band before them (it was named along the lines of 'The Storms' or something). He made a mental note to go find him after their performance, but was quickly overtaken by the rush of being onstage with his other bandmates. He glanced back at where Pete sat at the drums and where George stood at his side, unfortunately mic-less, with his guitar in hand. The dark-haired boy flashed them both a quick thumbs up, then at Stu, who was on the other side of Pete, then turned back towards the audience. He was vaguely aware of John at his side, addressing the patrons and announcing their set. He was glad they weren't sharing a mic, scared at the thought that his left-handedness might cause them to bump each other and embarrass them onstage.

"Macca, you ready?" John turned away from the mic so his voice wouldn't pick up. Paul snapped out of his brief zone-out and turned towards his mate. John was smiling at him for once, and it made him feel strangely uneasy. That smile was coming from the same person who supposedly didn't want him. He couldn't see his mate's eyes through the heavy glare on John's glasses, so it was impossible to tell whether the smile was genuine. Whether or not it was, Paul decided, they could still play together and ignore their arguments. Even if just for an hour or two.

"I'm ready."

...

The week the band spent in Hamburg was, in reality, duller than they expected. Aside from playing at the club starting from late in the evening then stumbling back to their hotel usually piss drunk, there wasn't much to do on the pier or in the city. They managed to get tickets for a movie with whatever funds they had left from the flight expenses, but most of the other days would be spent either sulking in the hotel room or trying to get fresh air and taking walks along the oceanfront.

It was their last day in Hamburg, and the group was getting ready for their last set, but no one had any idea where the hell John was.

"He's our lead singer, damnit. Someone has to go get him or we can't bloody perform," Stu warned frantically as the rest of the boys stood around him in one of their rooms.

"I'll go find him," Paul offered. Well, less offered than stated; as soon as he finished his sentence he sprinted out of the room, wondering where his best mate would be at this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy we almost done boissss


	7. Chapter 7/ the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I abruptly end this mess (that sounds like I’ve killed someone don’t worry no one dies although i was gonna write that as a joke once—)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s heavily implied underage drinking in this chapter btw. Not a good idea to do IRL. Please only consume alcohol if you are at your country’s age requirement or just drink some sparkling apple cider and convince your friends that you're drinking white wine. It surprisingly works.

The week the band spent in Hamburg was, in reality, duller than they expected. Aside from playing at the club starting from late in the evening then stumbling back to their hotel usually piss drunk, there wasn't much to do on the pier or in the city. They managed to get tickets for a movie with whatever funds they had left from the flight expenses, but most of the other days would be spent either sulking in the hotel room or trying to get fresh air and taking walks along the oceanfront.

It was their last day in Hamburg, and the group was getting ready for their last set, but no one had any idea where the hell John was.

"He's our lead singer, damnit. Someone has to go get him or we can't bloody perform," Stu warned frantically as the rest of the boys stood around him in one of their rooms.

"I'll go find him," Paul offered. Well, less offered than stated; as soon as he finished his sentence he sprinted out of the room, wondering where his best mate would be at this time.

———

The hotel the band was staying in had a large balcony on every floor, and it was a nice way to step outside and take in the city. John was there, doing just that, accompanied by a cloud of thick, sweet-smelling smoke.

"I thought I told you to quit that, Lennon." He turned around sharply, quickly stuffing his vape into his pocket when he saw who it was.

"You're not my mom, Macca," Paul, who was leaning against the doorframe that led to the balcony, crossed his arms in annoyance.

"Clearly. Anyways, we're on in like...a bit," He almost turned to leave, then took notice that John had no intention of moving. "John. We have a gig to perform at." The older boy continued staring at Paul. "I bet all the girls will be disappointed you're not there!" The younger boy tried to insert some humor into the conversation, but to no avail. Clenching his jaw, he walked forward and grabbed John by the sleeve, yanking him towards the door.

"Let go! I can walk by myself," John yelled.

"Then use your fucking legs and let's go! I don't get why you don't want to perform; it's our last night anyway," John pulled his arm away, but continued following Paul to meet up with the rest of the band.

"It's just...never mind. I'll tell you later." The two reached the room where the rest of the members were anxiously waiting.

"The hell were you two?!" George spoke up, surprisingly.

"Having a little jig in the hallway, of course," Everyone else showed signs of visible confusion. "Oh fucking hell, that doesn't matter does it? Let's just go; we've a show to put on!"

...

The last night at Hamburg overwhelmed not only the crowd, but the band as well. They finished their set, awarded with thunderous applause and someone screaming "Drinks on the house!" The end result was the boys stumbling back to their respective rooms thoroughly intoxicated. The three younger boys nearly fell through the doorway of their room, drunkenly reaching for the door handle or something to fall onto. George, who was swaying dangerously in the elevator up, ran straight to the bathroom as soon as they stepped through.

"George! Don't...ah, hell," John started to say something, then realized that thought would trail off anyway. Paul, who hadn't drunk nearly as much as the other two, but was still more or less pissed, shoved his mate through the door, shutting it behind them.

"Fucking hell, I'm not looking forward to tomorrow," Paul blurted. He dragged himself over to the bunk in the corner, plopping down onto it and letting out a loud sigh.

"Then why'd ya drink?" John asked, approaching him wearily, feeling like falling over, now less from the alcohol.

"'Cus I bloody felt like it, okay?" The younger boy sighed again, dragging a hand across his face. "I think I'm not really drunk anymore. Just...sleepy," John yawned in agreement.

"Then I suppose we'll have to pack in the morning." John turned towards the bathroom, remembered that George was there, then began making his way to the couch when he felt a tug on the back of his shirt, "What now, Macca?"

"You take the bed. I've used it all week 'n I don't think it's fair," Paul mumbled. John turned around, seriously considering the offer.

"And you'll take the couch?"

"Just take the goddamn bed." Paul stood up and elbowed John, looking at him demandingly until he took his place.

"Happy?" John asked, looking up at the dark-haired boy, exasperated.

"I suppose," Paul shrugged. He was about to leave when he heard John say "Wait."

"Hm?" The younger boy looked at his mate questioningly.

"Just..." John shifted back onto the bed, then moved over until there was just enough space for Paul. He patted the area. Paul almost sighed again, then decided that he might as well have the comfort of a cheap hotel bed over a scratchy old sofa.

"Alright. Move over." The younger boy climbed onto the mattress in a less-than-graceful fashion, letting himself fall face-first into the pillow. "Night, John," he said, his voice muffled.

"Can I have my pillow back?"

"Get another one." The older boy yanked the pillow from under his mate's head and brought it down firmly on his back.

"No."

"Fuck, John! That hurt!"

"Good!" John placed the pillow on his side and lay back onto it. He heard Paul sigh, and looked over. The dark-haired boy was now flat on his back, staring up at the planks holding the top bunk up. "Paul?" John asked, looking back up in the same manner that Paul was.

"Yeh?"

"I'm sorry,"

"It was jus' a pillow, no big deal." John took a shaky breath and turned over to look at his mate.

"I mean it, Macca." Paul looked over, and the two were stuck staring at each other. "I'm sorry for the stupid shit I've said and I'm sorry for being and arse an—"

"Slow down, Lennie." Paul sat up, motioning for John to do the same. "Firstly, you say stupid shit all the time, so you don't have to be sorry for that. Second, yeah, you were actually being kind of an arse." John looked up in slight shock. He was expecting nice words or something encouraging, not a confession of hate.

"Look, I don't have an excuse for what I've done—"

"I didn't say that." Paul reached an arm out and placed it on John's shoulder. "I meant: you were being a prick, but I understand. Yeah, you overreacted and I honestly wish you'd have talked to us more, but you were in shock," Paul said, scooching closer to John. "Your mum died and you didn't know how to react so you put up walls." John let out a small breath.

"How'd you get all that?" he asked, somehow amazed.

"I'm not shallow, you git," Paul stated. "But there's one thing. Why avoid me? Of all people you _know_ I could have talked to you."

"I wanted to," John sighed, looking down at his lap sullenly.

"And the best way to do that was to push me away?" Paul's tone rose a little. John looked back up, meeting his mate's eyes. They were a dark, cool gray, the color of storm clouds. Looking at them made him feel like crying again, yet at the same time he was too tired to let anything out. What time was it? They fell into their room sometime around midnight, but how long had they been talking. A minute? Ten minutes? An hour?

"I pushed you away because I felt confused, okay?"

" _Then why didn't you talk to me?!_ " Paul almost screamed. His grip on John's shoulder tightened, causing him to wince a bit.

" _Did I have to?!_ Maybe there's things I can't tell you, Paul. Maybe there's things I'm too fucking scared to say because you'll think I'm being stupid or wierd or—"

"John for fucks sake just _listen to yourself_. You're not stupid, you're not w—"

" _I'm afraid I'll lose you!_ "

There was a deafening silence, the only noises being the low hum of cars from outside or John quietly whimpering. He was bending over—his head almost in his lap and clutching his stomach—while Paul just stared. What could he say?

"John?" Small sobs were the only response. Paul sighed, lowering his head and pressing his face into John's hair. There was a loud noise from John, a sort of choking sound, then he looked up. Paul's face softened when he saw the state his mate was in; tears streaking down his face, his hair sticking up, and his expression. Pain, indescribable amounts of pain.

"I don't want to lose you," John barely whispered. His breath hitched again, and he clenched his stomach tighter. "It hurts, Paul. It hurts so fucking much."

"I know." Paul, who still hadn't taken his arm off of John, wrapped it around the older boy's back and pulled him forward for a hug. John buried his face into Paul's neck, just trying to _breathe_.

"It hurts so much to know that if I lose you, I won't have anyone else."

"Anyone else?" Paul asked, lifting John's face up by placing his hands on his cheeks. John shut his eyes tightly for a moment, bringing a hand up and wrapping it around Paul's. He opened his eyes again, staring tiredly at his best mate.

"Anyone else to love."

Silence.

Silence, yet one where you can feel and hear everything. The boys were aware of the other inching closer. John unclasped his hand from Paul's and placed it on his shoulder instead, doing the same with his other. Paul moved his hands to the back of John's head, gently clutching his hair.

And then they kissed.

Neither of them knew who leaned in first, but that didn't matter. It was bliss, just pure bliss. John leaned forward, pressing their lips even closer together. Paul took a hand away from John's hair and pressed it back onto the bed, the only support they had to keep them from falling over.

After what felt like minutes, they drew back from each other. A small gust of air left John's mouth as he gently traced down Paul's face with one hand, but neither of them wanted to open their eyes.

"Macca?" John murmured against Paul's lips. Paul barely opened his eyes, just enough to see the boy sitting in front of him. John—who had his arms now wrapped around Paul's waist—slowly fluttered his eyes open. "Macca?" he asked again. Paul hummed in response, not looking away. John opened his mouth to say something, then immediately closed it and dropped his head onto Paul's shoulder.

"I'm so fucking tired, mate."

"Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo you made it to the end congrats. Tbh, like I’ve mentioned, I'm not really happy with the end product, and I ended the story where I did bc I had no motivation or ideas to finish it properly. Still, thank you to anyone who ended up clicking on this, whether out of boredom, pity, or genuine curiosity. Also, if i ever end up writing again, if yall have any AU or prompt suggestions (i either plan on writing more Beatles stuff or Buzzfeed Unsolved stuff (and maybe Sherlock and Merlin cuz why not)) feel free to throw them at me. Again, I draw stuff (mainly Youtubers and The Beatles atm) on my insta @ bitdoodles so go gimme some clout there if you’d like. Mkay im gonna go yeet myself into a volcano now, see ya.  
> -Pixel


End file.
